Divergent (Divergent, #1)

by Veronica Roth

My mother told me once that, a long time ago, there were people who wouldn’t buy genetically engineered produce because they viewed it as unnatural. Now we have no other option.

“We just . . . weren’t supposed to hurt people,” I say. “I like to think I’m helping them by hating them,” she says. “I’m reminding them that they aren’t God’s gift to humankind.”

I pull my foot back again, but Four’s hands clamp around my arms, and he pulls me away from her with irresistible force. I breathe through gritted teeth, staring at Molly’s blood-covered face, the color deep and rich and beautiful, in a way. She groans, and I hear a gurgling in her throat, watch blood trickle from her lips. “You won,” Four mutters. “Stop.”

“You weren’t allowed to have pets?” Christina demands, smacking the table with her palm. “Why not?” “Because they’re illogical,” Will says matter-of-factly. “What is the point in providing food and shelter for an animal that just soils your furniture, makes your home smell bad, and ultimately dies?”

“You know, most boys would enjoy being trapped in close quarters with a girl.” I roll my eyes. “Not claustrophobic people, Tris!” He sounds desperate now.

Just like that, he has finally declared himself, and I don’t know how to respond. My cheeks warm, and all I can think to say is, “But you’re older than I am . . . Tobias.” He smiles at me. “Yes, that whopping two-year gap really is insurmountable, isn’t it?”

Will and Christina kiss, a little too sloppily for my taste. All around me is the pounding of Dauntless fists. Then I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to see Tobias standing behind me. I get up, beaming. “You think giving you a hug would give away too much?” he says. “You know,” I say, “I really don’t care.” I stand on my tiptoes and press my lips to his. It is the best moment of my life.

I’m not afraid of dying, but I want to die a different way, any other way.

“You nearly died today,” he says. “I almost shot you. Why didn’t you shoot me, Tris?” “I couldn’t do that,” I say. “It would have been like shooting myself.”

“I might be in love with you.” He smiles a little. “I’m waiting until I’m sure to tell you, though.” “That’s sensible of you,” I say, smiling too. “We should find some paper so you can make a list or a chart or something.” I feel his laughter against my side, his nose sliding along my jaw, his lips pressing behind my ear. “Maybe I’m already sure,” he says, “and I just don’t want to frighten you.” I laugh a little. “Then you should know better.”